THE PROPHECY
Long ago, the gods, goddesses, and the people of Ala Udo coexisted in harmony. The divine beings showered their creation with love and affection. This bond became even more evident when a gift was bestowed upon a prince from Etiti Udo.
His name was Zikora Chetachukwu, the first son of Akachukwu Chetachukwu. He was a serious man who loved his people deeply but felt his father only acknowledged his brother, Lotanna Chetachukwu. To prove himself worthy, Zikora embarked on a journey to the land of the gods and goddesses, Ala Mmuo.
In Ala Mmuo, Zikora met Nwabali, the god of night and mystery. He explained his desire for power to bring peace and harmony to his people—to help them thrive and feel safe. Moved by Zikora’s noble request, Nwabali granted the prince a fraction of his ike. However, the god did not foresee that such power would be too great for a mere mortal to bear.
With this divine power, Zikora brought peace to his land and extended that peace to other regions. But as time passed, his heart darkened. The envy he harbored toward his brother festered, transforming into jealousy, then hatred. Zikora became violent and dictatorial, corrupting both the land and himself.
The blessing turned into a curse, birthing the Eze Ojo—a malevolent force whose power, Anwansi Ojii, stemmed from the darkness in Zikora’s heart. With this power, he created the Ekwensu—corrupted, impure creatures born from the plight and cries of the dead, evolving from shadows and darkness.
A brutal and unending war ensued against the Eze Ojo’s hold on the land. Countless lives were lost to sickness and gruesome attacks from the Ekwensu. Some, driven by fear, aligned with the Eze Ojo, spreading further destruction across Ala Udo.
Feeling responsible for the chaos, the gods and goddesses intervened. They chose select individuals, bestowing upon them Anwansi and teaching them the sacred language of the gods, Igbo.
The gods also entrusted the people with six mythical stones: Oroma, O laedo, Amaloji, Mme mme, Ndu-ndu, and Uze-uze. Each stone embodied the essence of a god or goddess. Armed with these divine gifts, the people waged a fierce war. After immense sacrifice and unwavering determination, they defeated the Eze Ojo.
Once the Eze Ojo fell, the stones were divided and hidden from the world. The gods and goddesses returned to Ala Mmuo, and Nwabali was banished. Ala Mmuo itself vanished from mortal sight.
Over time, the tale of the Eze Ojo faded into legend. Many wondered why the gods had left, while others forgot they ever existed. But what few realized was that a new evil was rising from the ashes, seeking to revive the darkness.
Far to the southwest, in the village of Ala Goziri Agozi, a vibrant celebration was underway at the village center. The clouds hung dark, with stars glimmering faintly above. The fire burned bright and warm, illuminating the dancing maidens and the young men beating drums and drinking.
Amid the festivities, Ijeoma, the celebrant who had just completed her priestess trial, rose from her seat beside the high priestess. Picking up a torch from the bonfire and her staff with her other hand, she began walking toward the temple at the far end of the village.
Her steps were graceful, the white sisal-wrapped skirt grazing the sandy ground. She carefully balanced the uli-patterned hemp over her head. Upon reaching the temple, she removed her tree-bark sandals and left them at the foot of the temple hut.
Using her back, she pushed open the hut’s mat curtain and entered carefully, shielding the torch’s flame from the wind. Her white and brown neck beads rattled softly with each step. Inside, she hung the torch and approached the far end of the hut, where a small muddy pedestal stood. Kneeling before it, she set her staff down at her feet.
She placed a calabash on the pedestal, rummaged through a basket of herbs, and selected ajapa leaves, which she laid in the calabash. Rising, she fetched incense from another basket and lit it using the torch. Returning to her kneeling position, she formed a circle with her hands over the calabash, shook a rattle rhythmically, and began to chant:
Ekele diri unu, chi ala anyi, abiala m inye gi ekele ma kpekwara gi. Biko nuru ihe obim choro ma na eduzi m. [greetings gods of our land, ive come to thank you and pray to you please hear what my heart desires and guide me.]
Lowering the rattle, she placed the incense inside the calabash and clasped her hands in prayer.
As she prayed, a sudden chill swept through the temple, causing the flames to flicker. Ijeoma’s eyes snapped open as the world around her shifted. She found herself in the heart of Ala Udo, but it was no longer the peaceful realm she knew.
Dark clouds churned ominously overhead, casting the land in a sickly green hue. Her feet were soaked in blood, the once-green grass now a grotesque carpet of lifeless bodies. The air reeked of death, and a cold dread settled in her chest.
A mysterious voice bellowed, “Long live the new Emperor!” The chant echoed, “Long live the emperor! Long live the emperor!! Long live the emperor!!!” Ijeoma frantically searched for the source of the voices.
Overwhelmed, she knelt on the bloody ground, covering her ears, her eyes shut tightly. “Stop! Stop!! Stop!!!” The voices gradually faded, but when she opened her eyes, the nightmare persisted. She rose, confusion and terror clouding her thoughts.
An ominous presence loomed behind her. Turning, she saw a swirling black void pulsating with malevolent energy. The shadows twisted into grotesque shapes that seemed to reach out for her. Panic gripped her as she tried to move, but her feet felt rooted to the ground.
The darkness surged forward, enveloping her in its cold embrace. She gasped for air, her vision narrowing as the void consumed her. Just as despair set in, a bright golden light shimmered in the distance, calling to her. Desperately, she reached for the light, her hope unwavering despite the vast distance.
Ijeoma jolted awake, trembling and drenched in sweat. The temple was as it had been before—serene and undisturbed—but the horror of the vision lingered. Lying on the floor, panting, she looked around at the familiar faces filled with concern.
Raising herself into a sitting position, she clutched her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. Her hand trembled, but she clenched it into a fist, her eyes burning with determination. She knew what she must do.
The next day, she rose early to greet the gods and prepared for her journey. By the village river, the high priestess approached her, with Ijeoma’s family watching from a distance. The high priestess, her steps slow and deliberate, carried her staff.
With a branch of Efirin leaf in hand, the high priestess lightly tapped Ijeoma as a way of shielding her from impending dangers. Then, handing the leaf and her staff to her attendant, the high priestess removed the raffia bag hanging across her body, presented it to Ijeoma, and blessed her:
Ka chi niile nọnyeere gị ka ị na-eme njem.[may the gods be with you as you travel.
